


Sleep

by ancalime8301



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Insomnia, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-28
Updated: 2005-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-19 05:19:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/197326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancalime8301/pseuds/ancalime8301
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Post-Quest, either book- or movie-verse. Written for a FrodoHealers challenge for a ficlet of 300 words or less covering anything within the scope of FrodoHealers (I didn't quite make it, as this has 350 words).</p>
    </blockquote>





	Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Quest, either book- or movie-verse. Written for a FrodoHealers challenge for a ficlet of 300 words or less covering anything within the scope of FrodoHealers (I didn't quite make it, as this has 350 words).

He couldn't sleep. Not anymore. Even when the dead weight of exhaustion sank into his very bones, even when his eyes were so dry and scratchy as to be nearly useless, even when he thought he would collapse and pass out from weariness, he could not rest.

The others urged him into bed each night, and he would go, just to please them, though he knew scant hours would pass in slumber (if, indeed, he could find sleep at all) before he would be wide-eyed and tense, his mind racing and his heart pounding as memories and fears held him in their sway.

Aragorn and the rest gave him teas and herbs and stayed with him during the night (which only made his wakefulness worse, as the unaccustomed presence sent him into a panic), but their efforts availed naught. Frodo grew more weary with each passing day: weary of being weary, and weary of such a troublesome existence; his exhaustion made him irritable and petulant, and though he recognized that he was treating the others badly, even a will as strong as his could not prove indomitable in such trying conditions, and his failure to control himself sent him into despair.

Then he swooned during a feast, and was rushed to the King's chambers by the King himself. Eowyn maintained something could be done, but Aragorn countered that he'd tried everything already. Frodo watched dispassionately from the soft bed, wishing they'd be quieter- he had a terrible headache.

Finally, Eowyn perched beside him on the bed and guided him onto his stomach. Her hands began some decidedly blissful kneading and squeezing of his neck and shoulders, and he could almost feel himself relaxing. Her soft voice prodded his mind to peaceful thoughts, to cherished memories of good food and friends, and he slowly, unwittingly, began to drift into the currents of slumber. Still he was aware of gentle hands, massaging movements, until every muscle loosened and he was utterly boneless, and he sank into restful sleep.

When he woke, it was nearly noon. And for once, he wasn't tired.


End file.
